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Yeah, she’s not going to cause a scene.
I order a drink and a piece of pie before finding a booth in the far back corner. I’ve already messaged Diane that I’m here, and she replied that she’d be here in just a few.
I’m sitting there, bored out of my mind, when I decide to text Raven to distract myself. Not that I think she’ll reply since she’s in class.
Me: How’s my favorite new friend?
Weirdly, she responds within seconds.
Raven: I’m not doing great at all.
Me: What’s wrong?
Raven: Well, when I signed up for classes, everything was full except for beginners art. So here I am, sitting at a table with a pencil and am supposed to be trying to draw a vase, but mine looks like a taco.
I’m mid-drink as I read this, so soda sprays all over the table when I laugh. I grab a couple of napkins, wipe up the mess, and reply back.
Me: I seriously just spit my soda out all over the table. How in the heck can you make a vase look like a taco?
Raven: By having zero art skills. You know that saying: I have two left feet. Well, I think I have two left hands or something.
I smile.
Me: Well, it’s a good thing you have two friends who are awesome artists.
Raven: Yeah, but you can’t really teach art, can you? You’re just kind of born with that skill.
Me: That might be partly true, but we can help you improve, at least enough that your vase won’t look like a taco anymore.
Raven: Thank God, because I seriously spent the last fifteen minutes convincing myself that it won’t be that bad if I fail out of art.
Me: You won’t fail. I promise. Harlow and I’ve got your back.
It takes her a moment to respond.
Raven: Thanks. I appreciate everything you guys have done for me. It’s been nice not to have to go through my first day of school completely friendless.
She’s said a couple of things that have made me question if she had friends before. And this message only makes me wonder that more. How, though? How can such a beautiful, amusing girl not have any friends?
I’m about to reassure her that she won’t be friendless anymore when a shadow falls over the table. I stiffen as a folder is tossed onto the table in front of me.
Sucking in a breath, I glance up at Diane.
She’s smiling, not in a friendly way, though; more like how a monster smiles at their prey.
“That’s the file on the new sheriff,” she states, strangely not taking a seat. “It’s the info your father has managed to collect on him so far. There’s not much and even less information about his family.” She places a hand on top of the folder, leaning down toward me. “You’re to find out as much as you can about everyone he’s close to then report back to me, understand?”
“Yep.” I manage to keep an even tone as I grab the folder and yank it out from underneath her hand, causing her to stumble a little.
Glaring at me, she smooths her hands over her hair. “Careful how you treat me.” She leans in, lowering her voice. “I’m the one who tells your father whether or not you’re doing a good job …” She traces her finger along my cheek and whispers, “I can either make you look terrific or make it look like you don’t respect him, that you’re the epitome of your mother.”
I jerk back, shock whipping through me. “What?”
She gives me a cruel smile. “What? Did I say something that confused you?”
“You …” I swallow hard, balling my hands into fists. “Why did you bring up my mother? And why did you make it sound like …?” Like my father did something to her.
“Did I?” she questions, tapping her finger against her lips. “I don’t remember doing so.”
